


Dreams of Home

by siesiegirl



Category: Firefly
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-09
Updated: 2006-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:03:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siesiegirl/pseuds/siesiegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the dreams that haunted him, the nightmares of death at his hands and before his eyes, the worst were the dreams of home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams of Home

Of all the dreams that haunted him, the nightmares of death at his hands and before his eyes, the worst were the dreams of home. They usually started with her face. He'd never seen her this age, but he knew it was her. They'd be sitting on their porch, watching the sunset and letting their children run in the yard to burn off some energy before baths and bedtime. She turned to him and smiled, and she glowed. More than just the last rays of the sun catching wisps of her hair and pinking up her cheeks. She was heartachingly beautiful, and he knew he was the absolute luckiest man in the 'Verse.

Then there was a flash on the horizon and one of the girls screamed. A few seconds later a shockwave rattled the house. The kids ran up onto the porch and the smallest climbed up into his arms. "A crash?" his wife asked, hopeful, but they both knew what it really was, and despite the terror thrumming in his veins, he knew there was no way to run away or hide. So he nodded casually and patted his baby's hair.

"Might be kicked up some debris. We'd better stay inside." The children, who normally would have grumbled at going inside early, nodded silently and shuffled to the door. He stood up, carrying the one who was still clinging to his shirt and hiding her face against his shoulder, so certain her daddy's arms could save her from any danger.

His wife gently touched his arm, and he freed a hand to take hers. She squeezed it desperately tightly and whispered, "I love you," as another flash, nearer, seared his eyes, and the feel of her fingers, and the child in his arms, turned to ashes in his hands.

Mal always woke in a cold sweat from those dreams, hating the emptiness surrounding him. He wanted the heavy warmth of that child against his chest, and his hand tingled where he could still remember the softness of her skin. Doc would tell him the tingling was because of bad circulation from his sleeping position or some _go se_ like that, but as much as he hated the emptiness, he wasn't going to tell anyone about it. One of these days, the dreams would stop, and he wouldn't feel it anymore.

The problem, he decided, was in the missin'. If he never touched anybody, held anybody, then he wouldn't notice the lack, because the emptiness would be normal. Right? Yeah. Of course.

So he slipped his suspenders over his shoulders, and slung his gunbelt around his hips, and looked in the mirror to make sure his grumpy scowl was in place, too. Ready for another day on his boat. Yeah. Of course.


End file.
